Artist: Popa Chief f/ Preacherman Album: Brain Food Song: What's Messin' Wit Dat? Typed by: Cno Evil [Intro: Preacherman] Can you tell me, what's messin' with that? Oh yeah, Preacher Man and Chief [Popa Chief] Everybody wanna ball hard, all the way to the championship Every foot is not the glass slipper fit Everybody wanna be, Jada's and Jordan's But everybody ain't nice, so that feeling's going Life's a gamble, whether you got a job, hustle with scramble With pot holders, it's too hot to handle Great ones, do great things, peasant the king, attack The game, with Barry Bonds swing, be the Lord of the Rings Judge me not for material things Although I love the game and the joy it brings Don't make me harpoon the moon, a platoon of goons Half rap, half cloone, banging that showtune Hell yeah, I move weight, the form of CD's and tapes Watch eyes on purpose to keep me scared straight The only way they catch me is coming out the weed gate So donut dunkings better be in shape, I rock the cape [Chorus: Preacherman (Popa Chief)] Can you tell me? (what's messing with that?) Do you hear me? (what's messing with that?) Get this money (what's messing with that?) Ya'll don't hear me (what's messing with that?) A house on the hill (what's messing with that?) Twenty four inch wheels (what's messing with that?) Ya'll don't hear me (what's messing with that?) Ya'll don't smell that (what's messing with that?) [Popa Chief] I got all out for the rap shit, piss in pots Islamic, empty the clip, nobody hot like I hit this And proven, technique's I'm using, got 'em moving I got the haters and the lovers feuding And when the smoke clears, Popa Chief is still here Blazing a forest and guzzling beer after beer Here's a kick in the crotch, I do it, no matter who watch Burn all my biskuts, keep my foot in the pot And my nose to the grind, my money on my mind Keep my hand on some kind, my lips off the swine Not to be fucked with like the alarm, I got the shield I stay in the laboratory like Dexter, it's time to build Without slinging drugs, without talking hot slugs Mo buds, mo suds, less hate, more love Rap pearls, ghetto girls, gangsters and thugs Rap need anger management, this rap to hug [Chorus] [Popa Chief] I don't break down bricks, bag dimes and nicks I don't run a four point 0 in the forty like Michael Vick But, before I get boxed and drop six feet in the dirt I'mma hit the rap game right, with rehearsing the family jewels That ain't cool, Popa Chief break all the rules You see what happen to Mike Tyson? It can happen to you This the thirtiest, hungriest, verbal specialist My aim game's the nastiest, holla round the neck with this Fuck the fancy bubbles and unpronouncable labels Hungryman plate me my proposal's on the table A slice of the pie, won't even cut it, live life to the fullest See all limits, Die Hard like Bruce Willis Leave all obstacles, break all barriers Treat haters like AIDS carriers, don't get mad Get your own, and enough meat on this bone No fucking clones, lintballs go home [Chorus] [Outro: Preacherman (w/ Popa Chief)] Ahhhhhhhh... one more time.... ahhhhhhhh... What's messing with that? What's messing with that? What's messing with that? What's messing with that? What's messing with that? What's messing with that? What's messing with that? What's messing with that?